


Jello Rustlers, or, The Good Kind of Quiet

by dogeared



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-11
Updated: 2006-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 19:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/pseuds/dogeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney hated the stupid infirmary. He could hear the plink of one of the technicians restocking tongue depressors, or whatever it was they did when there wasn't a medical emergency.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jello Rustlers, or, The Good Kind of Quiet

"Rodney, relax—Beckett said what I have is nigh uncatchable."

"What? Oh, he did not! I never should have let you watch that movie. You totally think you're some kind of pirate!"

"Space pirate." Sheppard waggled his eyebrows. " _Arrr_."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I thought that was supposed to be 'space cowboy.'"

"That too."

Rodney sighed and reluctantly pulled off the surgical mask he'd been holding to his face. He sat down in one of the uncomfortable, spine-crippling chairs next to Sheppard's infirmary bed.

"So . . . what _do_ you have?"

"Space bug."

"Of course."

"Beckett doesn't think I'm contagious, though."

"Well, obviously! Or else he'd have you hermetically sealed—the Colonel in the bubble, as it were."

Sheppard smirked. "Yeah, thankfully, it hasn't come to that." He eyed the mask in Rodney's hand.

"Yes, well, you can never be too careful," Rodney said loftily.

Rodney hated the stupid infirmary. He could hear the plink of one of the technicians restocking tongue depressors, or whatever it was they did when there wasn't a medical emergency. He twisted his hands in his lap. His left leg started bouncing. He peeked at Sheppard, who looked pale and a little glazed, lying there in white scrubs.

"Well, I guess I'd better get back to it, then . . . feel better, and all that?" Rodney levered himself out of the death chair—wow, he absolutely needed a chiropractor, or maybe a masseuse, and _why_ hadn't they thought to bring one to Atlantis? He wondered whether you could requisition a person—and smoothed his palms down his thighs, brushing away wrinkles.

"What, no—Rodney, wait!" Rodney paused mid-smooth to stare at Sheppard. Sheppard stared back at him—intently.

Rodney threw up his hands. "Okay, you win the staring contest! _What_?"

"I'm _bored_!"

Rodney rolled his eyes—again—"Unfortunately, Colonel, not all of us can afford to just lounge around."

Sheppard looked a little put out at that and muttered sullenly, "It's not _my_ fault I got a space bug."

"Oh, for . . ."

"Rodneeey, come on—entertain a guy!"

"Colonel, _what_ exactly would you like me to do for you?" Before he could answer, Rodney pointed at him: "And don't even go there!"

"I was just going to ask if you'd rustle me up some jello from the mess."

"Jello."

"Yes."

"'Rustle it up.'" Rodney quirked his fingers into air quotes.

"Yep. From the mess." Sheppard grinned. Rodney parried with his best look of implacability. Sheppard pouted. Rodney stomped out of the infirmary.

***

Two jello runs, one two-way video uplink for a senior staff meeting, and five separate deliveries of: _War and Peace_ , a laptop and DVDs, Sheppard's Palm, Athosian tea with honey (and lemon, no less), and one of Rodney's top secret emergency stash of Twix later, Rodney was back in the infirmary. Again. This time with notes for Sheppard from another meeting that he'd missed because he'd eschewed the uplink for a nap. A little dreamily, Rodney remembered when been out of school for three months with mono, his classmates taking turns bringing him class notes and homework assignments, and the way he'd made a chart and looked forward to the days when Maggie Frost or Ben Ehler had delivery duty.

He sighed and tossed the papers on top of Sheppard's pile of swag. It was late, and the infirmary was quiet. Sheppard was awake, since all he'd done all day was lie in bed and call Rodney to ask him for things, but he was quiet, now, too. It was a nice quiet. Rodney tapped into his laptop for a few minutes, using the edge of Sheppard's bed as a desk, then closed it and put it on the floor before leaning over to slump face-first into the mattress.

"Can you breathe like that, buddy?"

"I'm okay." Rodney's voice was muffled. His back was definitely going to hate him later, but for the moment, he was comfortable. When he felt Sheppard's—John's—hand settle on the back of his head and heard him murmur, "Good man, Rodney," he let himself drift off, just for a little while.


End file.
